We never sleep
by DeJean Smith
Summary: When Isabella Swan is kidnapped by her Uncle James and betrothed to the infamous gangster, Jacob Black, her father calls upon the only hope he has, The Pinkerton Agency, and their agents that never sleep. A contribution to Words of Love for Meli.
****This was my contribution to Words of Love for Meli. She's gonna kick cancer's A$$. Check out the group of stories at .net (slash) u (slash) 7714837 (slash) Words-of-Love-for-Meli There's some pretty fabulous pieces there.**

 ****I haven't decided if I'm going to continue this or let it sit as is, so I'll leave it open for now.**

 **Summary: When Isabella Swan is kidnapped by her Uncle James and betrothed to the infamous gangster, Jacob Black, her father calls upon the only hope he has, The Pinkerton Agency, and their agents that never sleep.**

 **Pairing: Bella/Edward**

 **Rating: M**

 **Genre: Romance/Adventure**

 **We never sleep**

 **For Meli—This plot was to be my entry for the Age of Edward 2016 contest. Life happened and it did not get finished. But for you, my dear, I did it. I hope you enjoy it. 3**

 **This is set somewhere between 1890-1910.**

 **Many thanks to May and Fran for organizing this (and any others I unintentionally omitted). Additional thanks to Fran for beta'ing this.**

Two men stared at page after page of gathered information in a cramped rented office near the heart of Buffalo, shuffling through their plan of attack with an eye for detail renown throughout the world. The open windows did nothing to cool the stuffy, oppressive summer heat as they developed a plan to bring down one of the most notorious criminals in Chicago and rescue an innocent young woman that had caught his eye.

Bootlegging, prostitution, gambling. Jacob Black was known for it all but was always one-step ahead of the police when it came to prosecution. But now they had a federal charge that Black would not be able to avoid—kidnapping.

"Are you certain this will work?"

"Positive," replied a blond-headed young man, pushing back from the desk with an air of confidence.

"And Miss Swan will be aboard the train?"

"Multiple witnesses saw her with her uncle, James Hunter, at the station. He purchased two tickets and then the couple disappeared."

The other man tsked and glared at his partner. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration as he shook his head.

"So no one actually witnessed her board?"

"If you would allow me the opportunity to finish, Edward, you would know that there were several accounts of a weeping woman in the first class Pullman car of the train as it sat awaiting departure. A man fitting Hunter's description was seen shooing away curious onlookers as well as other passengers."

Edward Cullen rolled his eyes as he worried the silver badge in his pocket between his fingers. Jasper Whitlock chuckled as he saw his long-time friend's tell surface. When the agent was mulling over details, he always toyed with his badge. Edward instantly pulled his hand from his pocket and folded his arms across his chest.

"Why was she crying?" Edward barked, trying to bring their attention back around to the issue at hand.

Isabella Marie Swan, the purported fiancée of Jacob Ephraim Black, leader of the infamous Chicago Black Hearted Gang and niece of one of Black's men, James Hunter, had been spirited away from a rural, Western New York hamlet and all but forced onto a train bound for Illinois.

"Rumor is she did not want to go," Jasper continued.

"We do not deal in rumors, Jasper."

Jasper sighed before pulling out another folder. He opened it and began reading a neatly typewritten paper.

"Charles Swan. Home: Forks, New York. Widowed. Brother-in-law of James Hunter. Has not spoken to him in five years. Had no inkling Hunter would arrange a marriage for his daughter and then take her."

"But Mr. Swan did not report it until now?" Edward asked, taking a few notations down in a small leather-bound notebook. It had been a week since she had been abducted.

His partner shook his head and pulled out another piece of paper.

Hunter had forced Isabella to write a note for Charles to find saying she had eloped. Words were underlined ever so faintly to read 'not my will.' The subtext was easy to miss.

"She's of a marriageable age. Her father was … content … to have a good arrangement for Isabella."

"Content?"

"Well, considering the other choice words I could provide, it was the best Alice-approved option."

Edward snorted. His sister hated foul language and had harped on and on with her husband to get him to overcome decades of poor habits. For her, Jasper changed something Edward could never understand. Relationships were not something he had time for and rarely experienced so Edward could not fathom why anyone would alter oneself for another.

Long story short, though, and what the officers of the Pinkerton Agency did not know, was that Charles Swan could barely afford to keep the small, tar-papered shack he called home. The death of his wife devastated him and for the past five years, he spent most of his income from his job down at the canals on diversions and strong drink. In his heart of hearts, Charles thought he was providing his beloved daughter a chance at a better life by allowing her to run off and his brother-in-law to arrange a marriage for his daughter that did not involve a dowry of any sort.

Then he had learned the truth—that James Hunter had kidnapped Isabella and was forcing her into an arranged marriage with the notorious Jacob Black.

That flipped a switch within Charles. He had thrown out all of his alcohol and spent two days in the midst of his own personal hell as he dried out before contacting the Pinkerton Agency. He begged and pleaded for assistance, offering his only possession of value—his own servitude.

"So she is not enamored with Mr. Black?"

Jasper snorted.

"They've never met," he continued. "Reports are that Mr. Hunter brought a portrait of Isabella to Chicago, and Mr. Black immediately ordered her to be brought to him. Miss Swan caused quite a public disturbance when she was dragged out of her schoolhouse. Two of her older male students tried to assist her, but her uncle pulled a gun on them."

Edward immediately became concerned that they were dealing with a child bride situation.

"How young is she?"

"Twenty. She is- was a teacher. The board of education has nothing but good things to say about her abilities. Very dedicated and well-loved by her students. Marriage is the last thing on her mind by all accounts. She appears to be quite content with a spinster's life."

Edward kept to himself his ever-present argument that just because one preferred to remain single beyond ones twentieth birthday, it did not classify one as a spinster or perpetual bachelor. At the ripe old age of twenty-five, he had endured many a lecture from his own mother who had birthed three children by this time. As the eldest, he bore the brunt of her desire for grandchildren.

He shuddered at the thought of domesticity.

"Do you think she will help us help her escape?"

"Depends upon how convincing you can be, Antonia."

~WNS~

Isabella Swan stared out the window of the rapidly moving train as the New York countryside sped by as her rolling prison regained speed. The train had stopped at yet another small town before once again rumbling toward Chicago and away from Buffalo.

She wondered if she would ever see her home again, if her father even looked up from his bottle when given the news of her abduction, and if Jessie would ever learn her state capitols without her assistance.

"Out of my way, young man," a husky, muffled voice demanded from behind her.

Isabella looked up to see a dark reflection in the window and imagined for a moment that a wraith had followed her aboard the train. A large part of her would not mind for some avenging angel to end this nightmare. Never in her entire life had she imagined she would be dragged from her beloved classroom and told she would never step foot there again, rather she would be married off to a blackguard with no say in the arrangement.

Upon hearing shuffling behind her, Isabella spun around to get a better look and saw a tall woman clad in widow's weeds attempting to make her way down the aisle, her uncle blocking her way.

"This is a private parlor," James announced, bowing up to his full height which still fell short of that of the woman in mourning. He looked up at the heavy netting hanging from a wide-brimmed hat that completely obscured his view of her face.

"Is it, now? When I purchased this ticket, the agent said nothing about the president being aboard."

The woman took a step forward only to find her way obscured.

"Ma'am, with all due respect…"

"Uncle James," Isabella interrupted, cringing when he spun around to face her. She unconsciously began to rub her wrist marred with the bruises from where he dragged her out of her classroom. She straightened in her seat and met his eyes.

"Uncle James, please. What harm is it to share the car?" Isabella motioned toward the empty seats. "You have already sent everyone else away."

"Enough, Isabella."

"Allow me some female company with which to converse to make the trip that much shorter."

"Enough, Isabella."

"Heaven above knows this is not a venture of my choosing."

"Isabella!"

"What am I going to do? Leap from the train as it speeds towards Illinois?"

"Quiet!" James' face turned bright red as spittle ran down his chin in his exasperation. He pulled a tattered handkerchief from his pocket and pawed at his face.

She cowered back into her seat, not seeing the anger flashing in the mourning woman's eyes.

James looked back and forth between the widow and his niece. Neither made him comfortable. He was a confirmed bachelor and the hysteria that often accompanied women, at least in his own mind, was reason enough to avoid prolonged exposure to them.

He took a deep breath as he tried to ascertain what to do while both women silently stared at him. Now it would only be three more days before he and Isabella would disembark once and for all. He would be well paid by Jacob Black, and she would be married off.

James silently cursed the day Jacob had come to the room he rented at a boarding house on the seedier side of Chicago and seen the drawing his sister Renee had made of Isabella. Once the boss had seen her, Isabella's fate had been sealed.

 _Bring her to me._

So it had been said; so it would be done.

Now here they were, recently departed from the Buffalo train station journeying to Chicago.

A muffled cry broke through Isabella's pinched lips as she tried to hold back the sound. Like an overtired child, she was rapidly losing control of her emotions.

James glared at his niece and she once again cowered in her seat.

The woman in mourning showed no reaction, though internally, a battle raged.

No man should ever treat a woman such that she would recoil like that.

"I'm getting a drink," James mumbled, forcing his way past the widow, slamming the car door behind him.

With the train in motion once again, there was little Isabella could do to escape, and he needed a bracer to make it through the night.

A new round of tears flowed down Isabella's face. She wondered how she had any left.

Without looking, she felt someone sit across from her.

Isabella attempted to straighten herself when a handkerchief appeared before her.

She mutely gazed at the plain, unadorned piece of cotton.

The kindness brought a fresh round of tears to her eyes, and she shook her head before accepting the handkerchief from a black lace gloved hand.

"Thank you," she murmured.

The widow's head tilted in a nod, indicating she had been heard.

After a few minutes of silence, Isabella's tears stopped and she sighed as she gazed out the window at the slowly moving countryside.

"Traveling for pleasure?"

The question seemed so innocent and so softly made, Isabella was not sure she had heard correctly. When the query finally processed, she shook her head.

"Your traveling companion seems … quite interesting."

Isabella felt the first hint of a smile tug at the corners of her mouth as the widow drew out the last word.

"My uncle is a beast unto himself."

The black lacey veil bobbed up and down.

"Creature. I mean creature!"

Tears once again filled her eyes.

 _Oh, God, now I truly am in for it._

"My sister always said that tears are God's way of cleansing the soul and that there is no shame in them."

"I have wept so much; I cannot imagine there is any cleansing left. Did you cry when your husband passed?" Isabella was horrified at her question. It seemed so disrespectful that she was almost happy when the widow did not answer.

Isabella turned toward the window, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"Beast seems rather fitting."

Isabella's posture softened ever so slightly, but she remembered the threats James had made.

 _No talking._

 _No telling._

 _No escaping._

She was on a one way trip to Hell and nothing would save her.

"Do you read?"

Isabella's thoughts were interrupted by a soft, low voice. Although the widow's appearance was imposing, she felt a sense of comfort by her presence. It was almost as if she felt protected even though they had just met.

She turned toward the widow and saw she was pointing at a book peeking out of Isabella's bag.

"One of my favorite pastimes."

"What do you have there?"

Isabella blushed as she pulled out a copy of Edward Bellamy's _Looking Backward_.

"A most interesting choice," the widow murmured.

"It was highly recommended to me by a good friend."

"Not what one would expect a proper young lady to be reading."

Isabella stiffened at the accusation, softening only when a low chuckle caught her attention.

The widow leaned over and whispered, "It's one of my favorite books."

Isabella could not help but smile, her face immediately transforming from the epitome of desperation to one of joy. An hour long, lively discussion on the book began and by the end, Isabella felt a world better, and the widow realized Isabella was more than just a pretty face.

"My brother-in-law gave me this before I departed for this journey. It truly is quite a fascinating read. Would you care to look at it and perhaps we could discuss its merits in the morning?"

A slim, blue, cloth-bound book was presented.

Isabella hesitantly took the book, running her fingertips over the title.

 _The Great Escape._

Oh if it were only true. She studied the strange design on the cover—a single, all-seeing eye.

Isabella thought it looked vaguely familiar, but at the moment could not recall where she had seen it.

Loud swearing and banging from outside the car gave her a jolt, and she tried to return the book but the widow's hands came up in refusal.

"Keep it, Isabella."

Her eyes widened. She had never offered her name.

"How?"

Then she heard James bellow her name.

"Do not let your uncle see inside."

"He can't read," she mumbled before tucking the volume into her waistband.

James stumbled into the car, the smell of cheap whiskey cloying to him.

"Damn wench threw a drink at me," he muttered, bobbing and weaving down the aisle, wiping at a wet stain on his suit coat.

He grabbed Isabella by the arm and jerked her to her feet.

"Off to bed. I didn't pay the extra for you not to be well rested before we get to Chicago. Git!"

Isabella rested one hand over where the book resided and cast one last look at the widow. She would have sworn she saw the avenging angel return instead of the mourning widow that Uncle James saw. Black lace gloved hands tightly gripped the armrests of the mourner's seat as if trying to hold a body down and in check.

Somehow, she knew her uncle would not harm her in front of the widow, and a tiny part of her felt that if he tried, he might come out on the poorer end of the bargain.

"Goodnight, Uncle." Isabella turned toward the widow. "Goodnight…." She realized she did not know the woman's name.

"Antonia. Goodnight, dear."

"Bed, Isabella!" James bellowed his patience at an end.

Fearing her uncle would follow, Isabella dashed down the narrow hallway and slammed the door behind her. Her heart beat wildly, and she listened at the door to discern if she was followed.

"Damn twit…" she heard her uncle mutter.

Isabella heard more mumblings, unable to make out what exactly was being said before someone plopped down into a chair. In a matter of moments, window-rattling snores echoed through the train car.

She looked around her tiny room after trimming the oil lamp to brighten it. The chamber was barely big enough for two people to stand side by side with a dressing table and a bed along the outer wall. Isabella briefly considered whether the widow had a room or if she had planned on sleeping in her seat in the parlor. Then Isabella remembered a strange comment Antonia had made during the discussion.

 _We never sleep._

It was a plural. Not 'I' never sleep. Not I have trouble sleeping.

Was it a message?

Taking a deep breath, she pulled the tiny volume out of her skirts and placed it on the small bedside table quickly, as if it would burn her hand.

"Well, that was most interesting," she murmured before preparing herself for bed.

Once upon a time, she would have loved the excitement of a voyage. The thrill of packing her paltry belongings and boarding a train bound for a huge city such as Philadelphia or Chicago would have made her heart nearly burst with excitement.

Now she was terrified by what might be at the other end of this journey.

Laying her hat, shirt, and skirt neatly in their appointed places, Isabella tugged on her frayed-at-the-edges nightgown.

She fell onto the bed, suddenly exhausted.

The book caught her eye as she unpinned her hair and loosened the thick braid. She absentmindedly brushed her hair and stared at the volume.

She was scared. How would a mourning widow be able to help her escape her uncle?

Isabella picked up the book and cautiously opened it.

Inside, she found a note pasted among the pages, addressing her by name and introducing the widow as a Pinkerton Agency agent in disguise.

The Pinkerton National Detective Agency!

That was where she remembered the phrase ' _We never sleep._ ' It is their motto, and for the past several decades, the Agency had been known for its ability to solve mysteries with an astronomically high rate of success.

Her heart leapt as the text revealed that her father had pleaded with Pinkerton agents near and far through telegraph to rescue his daughter. He had not abandoned her as she had feared.

Isabella clutched the book to her chest as she gasped at this disclosure.

As she continued to read, a simple plan was laid out assuring her not only her freedom but assistance in returning home should she so desire.

At that moment, Isabella felt the first sense of hope since her uncle had dragged her from her classroom.

The next morning, Isabella awoke. For a moment, she blinked and rubbed her eyes, trying to ascertain where she was. Then she remembered.

The train. Uncle James. Chicago.

The widow.

Isabella could feel the train rumbling on its way.

Scrambling out of bed, she pulled on her clothes as quickly as humanly possible and twisted her hair into a sloppy chignon before pinning her hat atop. She shoved _The Great Escape_ into her reticule and pulled the ribbons over her wrist. She could not risk her uncle finding it.

Before opening the door to her room, Isabella straightened and took a deep breath before smoothing her skirts and the hem of her blouse.

 _Calming thoughts. Sweet, blissful calming thoughts._

Low voices greeted her as she emerged from her room and slowly walked toward the front of the car toward the parlor. She saw Antonia quietly talking to a man she did not recognize.

Isabella's eyes scanned the room, desperately trying to avoid her uncle for as long as possible. Not seeing James, she slowly made her way down the hallway.

Upon realizing she was there, both Antonia and the stranger stood. Isabella was confused at why Antonia would stand but acknowledged the blonde man before sitting across the way from them. Women usually only nodded a greeting when someone entered the room.

Very peculiar, indeed.

"Good morning, Miss Swan. My name is Jasper Whitlock."

Isabella looked over at the man speaking, a faint smile gracing her lips as she saw the mirth in Jasper's eyes. Something about his entire demeanor put her at ease, and the deep, rumbling southern drawl with which he spoke was soothing.

"I believe Antonia gave you some light reading material last night?"

The humor in how he said the widow's name confused her and Isabella looked over at her new friend.

Without warning, the widow flung her arm across Jasper's chest, earning an _oof!_ and a wince from the force of the blow. Isabella was almost certain a muffled curse accompanied the exclamation, but she was all too familiar with them and paid it no mind.

"What my brother-in-law is trying to ask is…" Came a low murmur from underneath the heavy veil.

"Yes!" Isabella blushed at her own impatience, but the opportunity to escape was more important to her than social niceties.

"I … yes. Please. Anything you can do would be most greatly appreciated," she murmured.

"Then it's settled," Jasper said with a nod. "As soon as we are in Illinois, the next phase of the plan can begin."

Isabella looked outside at the countryside as it sped by, much faster than it had the day before.

"Were we not supposed to stop along the way? Uncle James complained to the ticket office in Buffalo that there was not an express train."

"We have. Only long enough to take on coal and a few passengers. Seems your fiancé paid the railroad a handsome fee to hurry this train along."

Isabella shuddered at the term fiancé. She, like many other of her friends, expected to someday find a husband, but unlike her friends, she was in no rush. Teaching children to read, write, and tote up numbers, that was her true calling.

"And your uncle is in the engine car _ensuring_ we are not waylaid," Antonia softly said in that low, murmur Isabella was growing to crave.

The mere sound seemed to wrap around her and give her a sense of security she had not experienced in a very long time.

"So," Jasper continued, pulling a deck of cards from his inside coat pocket. "Let us while away the time and perhaps sharpen this plan, shall we?"

Isabella was unsure how Antonia and Jasper might feel if they knew she loved card games and was quite adept at them. Such things were not always seen as the most lady-like of pursuits. Then she saw Antonia reach for the deck and begin shuffling them with the level of skill that indicated this was not her first time handling the cards, and her fears were set aside.

She also realized just how much larger Antonia's hands were than hers. Isabella knew the widow was at least a foot taller, but this was the first time it completely registered in her mind. Shaking her head at how little it truly mattered, she picked up her hand and studied her cards, happy that things were beginning to turn her way.

Hours later, James entered to find a rousing game of whist underway with Isabella laughing at Antonia's falsetto voice and then low rumbling voice as the widow played as two people since the game required four sets of hands.

"Who are you?" he demanded, glaring at Jasper, who currently was winning the game.

"Jasper Whitlock, at your service. Escorting my in-law to Chicago for the burial of a loved one." He motioned toward Antonia, who tilted her head in agreement. "Business prevented me from picking up the train at the same station. Luckily, I caught it before it left New York."

James' eyes narrowed as he studied the gentleman as if he could read Jasper's mind and determine whether what he said was truthful or not.

"This is a private car," he finally growled.

"Surely, you would not prevent me the familial duty to escort a relation."

Isabella fought the urge to giggle as her uncle tried to decipher just what Jasper had said. Her stifled laughter came out more as a cough from behind her hand.

James spun around to glare at her and for a moment, her fears returned and she cringed.

"It appears that the traveling has given you a touch of a cough, Miss Swan," Jasper offered kindly. "Perhaps a quick nap before supper would be best."

Isabella nodded and mumbled her excuse-mes and hurried down the aisle to her room. She could not get away from her uncle quickly enough.

After hearing the door shut, James turned back to face Jasper and Antonia. Before he could get a word out, Jasper reached down into his valise and pulled out a bottle and plunked it onto the table.

James' eyes grew wide as the golden liquid sloshed back and forth. He licked his lips in subconscious anticipation.

"Ever enjoyed a fine Mexican tequila, Uncle James?" Jasper drawled as three small glasses were placed aside the bottle.

James mutely shook his head. It had been almost four hours since his last drink, and he could tell this trip had shot his nerves and he was in need of fortification.

"Well, then." Jasper poured three servings. "You are in for a treat."

"I don't drink no sissy drinks," James finally muttered, nodding his head toward Antonia.

If it was appropriate for a lady, it was nothing he wanted any part. Probably some fancy sherry or dainty wine, he mused to himself.

"I promise you," Jasper assured with a smile as he picked up his glass. "There is nothing sissy about tequila."

He downed the drink in one swallow, relishing the burn.

God, he loved undercover work. Drinking on the clock and Daddy Pinkerton's dollar, it didn't get much better than this.

Antonia picked up a second glass, and it disappeared under her heavy black veil. One quick nod and it reappeared as empty.

James could feel the eyes of his car-mates on him and decided to give this new drink a go.

It burned.

Tears pinched in James' eyes as he fought back the strong need to cough.

Before he had control of himself, Jasper refilled everyone's glasses.

"To your health!" he cheered, raising his tequila.

Glass after glass followed. Soon, Antonia and Jasper were merely pretending to fill their glasses but James' always found itself up to the brim. The more he drank, the more James relaxed. Soon he was regaling them with stories of his life in Chicago.

How he had escaped poverty in the small village of Forks, New York, to become the great Jacob Black's right-hand man.

Antonia and Jasper knew that James Hunter was little more than a peon in the Black Hearted Gang, but in his own mind, James was a prince. And he had access to almost every operation the gang participated.

Throughout the afternoon and into the evening, he had an audience that was willing to listen and ply him with free alcohol. James did not even notice that as Jasper and Antonia hung on to his every word, copious notes were being made.

All was right in his world as far as he was concerned.

"I believe I am going to check on Miss Swan," Antonia said in a low voice. "It has been hours since breakfast, and I do believe we played cards through lunch."

The widow rose and began venture toward Isabella's room.

James watched as the black figure brushed by, shrinking back as if he feared he'd dissolve into nothing in the merest hint of lace touched him. His eyes were glazed over and his face slack.

He was tired and needed a nap. What harm could it do, he thought to himself as his eyes began to close. The train was not supposed to stop again until they reached their destination. Just a little shuteye to make sure he was refreshed when he presented Isabella to Mr. Black.

Before he knew it, James fell into a drunken stupor, snoring loudly.

Jasper held up the almost empty bottle.

"That was $3 well spent."

"Agreed," Antonia responded in a voice stronger and clearer than she had used thus far.

Rapping lightly on the door to Isabella's room, Antonia watched to make sure James did not move.

He did not.

"Isabella?" the widow whispered.

The door opened a few inches, and when Isabella saw who it was, she stepped back from the door and returned to the washstand.

"I was freshening up before supper," Isabella stated, her back to Antonia, who quickly followed her in and shut the door behind.

She did not see the widow, upon realizing Isabella was standing there in her corset and underclothes, spin around to face the door.

"How much longer before we reach Chicago?" Isabella asked, wringing out a damp cloth and wiping it over her face. It felt good to rinse away some of the grit and grime.

When she did not receive a response, she looked up into the tiny mirror and realized Antonia stood with her back toward her. Isabella's first reaction was that the widow was appalled at her pauper's clothes and could not bear to face them. Her cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment, and she squeezed her eyes shut before blinking back a tear.

She knew she was poor. It had been her status in life long before her mother had passed. That did not make it sting any less when someone she had quickly thought of as a friend could not bear to look at her just because her clothes were hand sewn and in need of replacing.

She drew a ragged breath before going back to her sponge bath.

"Miss Swan?"

"I'll be dressed in a moment. I apologize that my apparel is not up to your standards."

Antonia grumbled before taking a deep breath.

"It's not your apparel that is the problem."

Isabella grunted, not believing the words.

"Did you read _all_ of what was said in the book?"

She paused in thought and then nodded.

"Did you?"

Isabella whispered a yes, feeling foolish that Antonia could not see her nod her head.

"Then you know I am here to protect you."

She was confused. How did refusing to face her protect her?

Slowly, Antonia reached up and pulled a few pins from the top of her heavy black hat, muttering an _ouch_ as one scraped skin.

In the mirror, Isabella saw short cropped coppery red hair emerge from under a sea of black lace. It was damp from perspiration in the summer heat, but it was no more than two inches long at most, curling slightly at the ends.

She was confused. Had Antonia chopped off all her hair in mourning her husband?

A few moments later, a black velvet and lace shirtwaist were tossed onto the bed alongside the mourning veil, revealing a white cotton men's shirt. With the unfastening of four buttons, a black skirt fell away to unveil gray pants and shiny black leather shoes.

"Agent Edward Anthony Masen Cullen at your service, Miss Swan." The deep, rich baritone unmarred by being whispered rang through the small room even though he still had his back to her.

Isabella's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped as she realized Antonia was not who and what she thought. The moment the awareness finally struck, she scrambled for her clothes and held them in front of her.

"You're…you're not…"

"No. I am not."

Behind him, Edward heard Isabella quickly tug on her clothes, wincing as he heard a seam pop in her haste.

"Your uncle is reaping the benefits of too much strong drink in too short of a time. As far as he knows, Antonia is who entered your room. Your honor is…"

"Stop. Just stop." Isabella was tired of the ups and downs her emotions had taken over the past several days. She just wanted silence and peace, and no amount of words was going to change that. After everything that had happened, her honor was far down the list of things she desired.

Edward wisely ceased talking.

She looked over at the pile of widow's weeds strewn across her tiny room and sighed. It was a well thought out plan—her switching clothes and departing the train right under her uncle and Mr. Black's nose. She just had never imagined it was a man aiding her.

"So I'm to put these on? Over my clothes?"

He nodded, still with his back to her.

"Agent Cullen, I am fully dressed now."

There was the faintest tinge of humor in her voice which relaxed Edward as he turned around. She really was quite a vision in the dim oil light, her hair slightly mussed from dressing rapidly, cheeks flushed a rosy pink, eyes bright with excitement.

He realized that was not the line of thought he needed to be taking under these circumstances.

"Alice designed the skirt to create extra pleats to fit you," Edward mumbled, stepping out of the pool of black material at his feet.

"Alice?"

"My sister. Jasper's wife."

"So he really is your in-law."

Edward nodded. "And where you will be staying until you can go home."

"If there is a trial."

"Oh, with the information your uncle gave us, I am certain Mr. Black will see the inside of a prison for a long, long time."

Isabella smiled, feeling that warm sense of hope creep into her once again.

"Then let us do this."

Two weeks had passed, and Isabella Swan sat on the porch swing at the home of Jasper and Alice Whitlock, a newspaper in her lap and a glass of cool water nearby.

 _Jacob Black arrested._

 _Crime king faces charges on multiple counts._

The headlines had been more frequent since the Chicago police had converged upon the Black Hearted Gang's headquarters and finally found their leader hiding in a warehouse down by the lake.

The papers were offering up to twenty-five dollars for stories related to the Gang's activities, the more salacious, the better. Jasper had teased Isabella she could pay for her own ticket back to Buffalo if she went forward about his brother-in-law wearing a dress. She had smiled politely and kindly shook her head.

She was not certain she wanted to go back to Forks. A part of her liked Chicago—at least what she had experienced of it so far.

Additionally, there was the fact that no one would ever believe a Pinkerton Agency agent would dress as a widow, exchange clothes with her, and then watch as she simply walked off the train while Uncle James, nursing a head-splitting headache searched high and low for his niece.

His body had been found floating in a river a few days later. Jasper had tried to hide the information from her, but the newspaper hawkers had been almost gleeful in their shouting as she walked through the street market with a waddling Alice.

Isabella did say a prayer for the soul of James Higginbotham, brother of her late mother, not James Hunter, member of Jacob Black's gang.

She sighed at the memory, lightly fanning herself with the newspaper. That was the last time she had seen Agent Cullen. He was standing off to the side of the train platform as Alice ran to embrace Jasper as quickly as her seven-month-pregnant body would allow.

And then he was gone.

Isabella had asked Jasper and Alice as they walked to a waiting carriage where he had gone only to be told there was a report to be made, and it was his way to finish a job as quickly as possible. She had tried to hide her disappointment, but the look Alice gave her said she had not done a very good job.

The sound of crisp footsteps on the sidewalk brought Isabella's attention around and to her surprise and delight, a certain gentleman she had just been thinking of was rapidly approaching.

"Good afternoon, Miss Swan."

"Good afternoon, Agent Cullen. Fancy seeing you here."

His ears and cheeks tinged a faint shade of pink as he stood at the bottom of the steps leading up to the porch.

"My sister has invited me to supper. Did she not tell you?"

Isabella shook her head. That would explain the handsome black suit he wore. He dressed up to visit his family.

"And I have received a message from your father that I wished to pass on."

She had not heard from her father in almost a week. They were trying to mend their relationship as well as him find employment, but memories were long in a small town and Charlie was pondering moving west.

Edward pulled a folded piece of paper from an inner pocket and held it up to her.

Isabella opened it and read the single word, _yes._ It made no sense to her, and she turned toward Edward to ask what it meant.

"I asked if I had his permission to court his only daughter. "

Oh. _OH!_

The comprehension of what he said finally struck.

"With her approval, of course."

With a shy smile, Isabella nodded.

"Then perhaps, Miss Swan, you would do me the honor of a turn around the park before supper?"

Edward held out his hand which Isabella took as she stood and allowed him to assist her as she descended the few stairs off the porch. He pressed a soft kiss to her fingertips before lacing her arm through his as they began their way toward the park, earning a radiant smile in return.

"So, Agent Cullen, tell me what you have been doing since we last saw each other."

And he did.

 **I hope you enjoyed this!**

 **DeJean**


End file.
